


Fight On

by ladyofreylo



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Love Story, No HEA, Not A Happy Ending, Poetry, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29091618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofreylo/pseuds/ladyofreylo
Summary: A Reylo poem about the moment Kylo Ren holds out his hand to Rey and asks her to join him.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15
Collections: The 50 Shades of Rey





	Fight On

Fight On

His voice, so soft and gravelly, at once soothed, grated, fractured

With confidence she never had.

She knows she’s nothing, from nothing, from no one.

Even masked, he read it in her mind.

Now he grates it back at her with an overlay of hard grit

Designed to make her fall into his pale prince arms.

She does.

Almost--

Taking the step, taking the proffered black leather glove.

And then, she steps back from the hole, away from that slippery monster maw.

Not just him and his strong body, staring teary eyes, and pursed lips, vibrating with desire.

His promises.

That’s the real fear bursting forth, brushing her hair back, and curling around her.

Her slip of tears when she comes to find him and he refuses her,

But believes she will bow to his will, his desires, him.

And if she should?

What can she do?

Sit in his quarters while he rules the universe?

Wait for him, within a twisted cage of emotions?

Perhaps she kills alongside him, making slaves out of people they conquer.

Is that not the way she was taught on the hot desert planet?

Kill or die?

She’s seen a shift, another way, a blue-green wash of salty water.

It cleared the dirt of her ugly tiny scraped-together life.

This dark one only wants on his terms

And she would give and give--and perhaps receive a smallish boon.

A different life.

A seat at the table? Highly doubtful.

She will be no one’s partner until assurances are made.

Those assurances may never come. 

He may wander around dressed in black coils around strong arms,

But casual, as if she, her being, her thoughts, her feelings

Matter less than the boot on his foot.

Assurances can be kicked in the corner when inconvenient.

The woman is no partner; she is an appendage of light to be brought out

Now and again.

That’s not her role. Not her duty. Not her.

Not she who made it through every age of her life with scratches and portions.

She trusts no one.

Him. His deep voice, sometimes heard in dreams, in caverns of her mind, sometimes

He makes it into the only thought inside her whole being.

And she wonders if she can

Fight on alone.


End file.
